Gospel Story Finder

“Are you ready to obey the commandment to pay tithing?” Mom asked.
A true story from the USA.
When Logan was five, he thought tithing was a terrible idea!
During home evening, Mom put 10 dollars on the table. “Let’s pretend you earn 10 dollars.”
Logan smiled. “OK!”
“Tithing is 10 percent. So you would give one dollar to the Lord’s Church.” Mom slid one dollar away from the pile.
Logan frowned. “Give away a dollar? But I want to keep all my money!”
“Maybe you’ll feel differently when you’re older,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father blesses us with everything. Paying tithing is one way we show God we love Him and are grateful for His blessings.”
When Logan was six, his Primary teachers taught him that tithing is used to build temples. Logan loved temples. So maybe paying tithing was a good idea for some people. But not for him.
When Logan was seven, he noticed that people smiled when they handed their tithing envelopes to the bishop. Could giving away your money really make you happy?
When he was eight, Mom asked him, “Logan, why did you choose to get baptized?”
That was an easy question! “To keep the commandments and follow Jesus Christ,” Logan said.
“So are you ready to obey the commandment to pay tithing?” Mom asked. “It’s up to you.”
Logan’s heart sank. That was not an easy question. He still didn’t want to give away his money. But he did want to keep the commandments. Logan thought of temples and the smiling people who paid tithing. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”
“That would be a good choice!” Mom said.
Logan felt a lot better. “I know keeping the commandments is more important than keeping all my money.”
On Sunday, when he handed his first tithing envelope to the bishop, Logan realized he was smiling. He felt happy! He still didn’t understand everything about tithing. But he loved God, and he knew God would bless him for obeying the commandments.

“I appreciate the part in For the Strength of Youth that says we need to dress appropriately,” says María Alejandra Cabeza de Vaca, 12. “One day at school we were allowed to dress any way we wanted. I felt really bad because some of my friends dressed immodestly. I said to one of them, ‘Tomorrow I’m going to bring you something that will help you a lot.’ I gave her a copy of For the Strength of Youth. She read it and said she felt it was true and didn’t want to dress immodestly anymore. It’s good to share what we have so the world knows the good things we’re learning.”

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was very small for my age. I was 5?2? and weighed 105 pounds. When you’re 5?2? and 105, not many coaches want you playing basketball, unless you have exceptional talent, which I didn’t. You also don’t make a very good linebacker for the football team.
I was sitting in the gym one day watching the basketball tryouts, when the wrestling coach walked by and said, “We need a few tough guys your size who can wrestle for us.”
I thought to myself, “Obviously I look pretty tough to the coach, so I’ll give this wrestling a try.” I told him I would do it.
My first problem was finding the wrestling room. After some searching, I found it was three stories under the basketball court in an unventilated, very dimly lit cubicle.
As I entered the room, I found the first thing you need to overcome in wrestling is the odor produced by 50 young men sweating in a room with no air circulation.
I found the coach. Instead of being polite and friendly as he had been the day before, he seemed grouchy and mean. He pointed to a kid across the room and said, “Wrestle him.”
I looked at the kid and thought to myself, “This will be a snap.” He was shorter than I was and looked as if he had missed a few meals. I turned to the coach to say he had made a mistake and surely there was someone else I could wrestle. As I did this, the kid grabbed me and for the next three hours gave me a wrestling lesson I’ll never forget. He rubbed my face in the mat and twisted me into positions I didn’t think possible. Finally, after three hours of mat work, I thought we were done. Not quite. Up to the halls we went, where the coach led us in wind sprints and jogging. Finally, four hours after practice began, we were finished. I sat on the bench in the locker room totally exhausted.
The coach called me into his office. He said, “How much do you weigh?”
I replied, “About 105.”
He said, “You’ll be wrestling 98 in three days.”
That was 7 percent of my body weight. “I’ll have to go without eating,” I protested.
He said, “I know.” So to my surprise, a wrestler not only had to work out for four hours, he couldn’t eat after the workout. I made weight at 98 pounds and put up with this difficult schedule for three weeks. Finally I had had enough.
I went home and told my dad that I was going to quit. I thought he would be elated after seeing how much I had suffered. Instead he said, “I never took you for a quitter. I always thought when you started something, you finished it.”
Well, if he was going to say that, I certainly would not quit now. I said, “I guess wrestling is not so bad after all.”
I stuck it out. For four long months I stuck it out. It was never easy. In fact, it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. It wasn’t glamorous. The basketball team got all the recognition. They got the nice locker room and all the new facilities, and the entire school showed up to their games. The school had to assign four members of the pep club to go to wrestling matches. No, it wasn’t glamorous. But much to my surprise, at the end of the difficult season, I had a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that I had never felt before. The most difficult thing I had done in my life turned out to be the most rewarding.

On a personal note let me share with you an experience in which I witnessed selflessness that brought tears to my eyes and helps prove my point of finding the greatest personal serenity through a selfless service to others.

A while ago I was involved in a voluntary mental health project to take care of the hungry, the less clothed, the sick, and to address the spiritual and temporal needs of homeless people on the leeward side of this island. We were to walk the beach and bush areas in the Waianae area and seek out individuals that were homeless. In my assignment I met many troubled individuals but none more memorable than a small middle aged Hawaiian woman living in the bush and tree area next to the Waianae Boat Yard. This area is a well- known homeless site here on Oahu. I was introduced to this sweet troubled woman by another woman that I will refer to as Ruth (This is not her real name). She would not want me to draw attention to her by using her real name. Ruth, who I grew to admire and care a great deal about that week, was a woman who once was a Catholic nun but had left the nunnery to work more directly with the under privileged citizens of Oahu. Ruth was a perfect example of living a life of contentment. Everywhere we went that week everyone knew her and I can say seemed to love her. I could almost immediately understand why she was so loved. She was heavenly. She was far from financially wealthy. She seemed happy and was very interesting to talk with. We talked a lot about religion those days and nights. Ruth was saintly in my opinion. She was selfless in her service.

My experience with this small troubled Hawaiian woman that Ruth took me to would probably not have happened without Ruth’s guidance. Ruth led me one night through literal darkness and bush to reach this poor woman. This dark journey could not have been more symbolic to me. Ruth and I learned from this troubled Hawaiian woman that she had been homeless for the last two years. She did have a tent that I stood by with my flashlight in the dark of the evening, but she commented to me where not to sit down because of the stinging spiders. This spider spot was approximately eight feet from her tent lodging. She shared information with us because we were interviewing her for placement into more suitable housing and care. In our medical interview she reported that she had been raped and had become HIV infected from the rape. Because of her confirmed HIV infection she was turned away from several housing opportunities. She was most gracious and loving in a grandmother type manner to Ruth and myself. We established this woman eligible for suitable housing and I am sure for more nourishment with food and clothing. I don’t believe I will ever be more humbled and certainly more blessed than I was trying to serve this sickly woman. I don’t know how selfless I was during this experience but I do know the spirit was with me at a very high level. I could not have been more fulfilled after that evening assisting this poor woman.

Brant sat on the curb and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look at this stupid report card!”
At the corner, they turned down the alley. “How am I going to handle this report card?” Brant said.
“What’s to handle? You usually get good grades.”
“Yeah, right! Then how do I explain a D in math?”
Willard laughed. “That will take some explaining!”
“Not funny, Will.”
“It is to me. I’m the one with bad grades. What happened to you?”
Brant shrugged and looked ahead toward his house. “Math happened. I’m lost.”
Willard patted Brant’s shoulder. “I don’t even show my folks my report card. Try that.”
Brant frowned. “Yeah, right! Hide it for a whole year? Get serious.”
“That’s what I do.” Willard flipped the ball in his hand. “My folks are too busy to even notice.”
“My folks know when report card day is. And if they forget, Randy reminds them.” Brant nodded toward the end of the street, where his little brother was walking home with a friend.
“Hi!” Randy called excitedly. “I got my report card!”
Brant jabbed Willard’s side. “See what I mean?”
“Wanna see my grades?” Randy offered eagerly. He shoved his report card into Brant’s face. “All A’s except one B!”
Brant patted Randy’s head. “Good work, Ran.”
“I get a dollar for every A,” Randy announced proudly.
Willard leaned close to Brant. “How much for a D?” he snickered.
Randy looked up quickly. “I didn’t get any D’s. After I tell Mom, I’m calling Dad at work and telling him my grades!” He raced toward the house.
Brant’s head throbbed. He knew he was slipping in math, but he hadn’t expected a D! Was this his year to hit his head against a brick wall? Please, Heavenly Father, he prayed silently, help me convince Mom and Dad I haven’t been goofing off. He opened the door and heard his brother’s excited voice.
“Yeah, Dad, all A’s and a B! Thanks! Do you want to talk to Brant?”
Brant shook his head and shivered, but it was too late. Randy shoved the phone into his hand. “Here, Brant, Dad wants to hear about your grades.”
At dinner everyone listened as Randy babbled about his good grades. Brant knew that Dad and Mom would wait till they were alone to drop the ax. After dinner, Randy ran out to play, leaving Brant alone. He wished he could disappear too. Instead, he went out onto the deck, where Dad was restringing the lawn trimmer.
As Brant slumped into a lawn chair, Dad looked up. “OK, so what’s with the D?”
Brant shrugged. “I’m having trouble with math.”
Dad leaned back and wiped his hands with a rag. “That’s no news flash.”
“I’ll do better next report period.”
“Good, but how do you plan to do that?”
Brant squirmed. “I’ll spend more time on my homework.”
Dad smiled. “That’s a step in the right direction. Another is no more after-school street hockey—homework first. No friends in, and no TV while you’re doing it. Plus, doing homework doesn’t mean rushing through and putting answers on paper. It means understanding how to solve the problems. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get your homework, and we’ll look at it. I used to be pretty good at math.”
The following morning, Willard and Brant hurried to school. “How’d it go with the report card?” Willard asked.
Brant shrugged. “I’m kind of grounded till I get this math thing right.”
“What’s ‘kind of grounded’?”
“It means that homework gets top priority. Dad explained some things, and I understand the math a little better already. What happened with you?”
Willard grinned. “Nothing. I told you I’d get away without showing them my report card.”
Brant frowned. Willard got away with everything! Then they passed Mr. Lawson’s home, and he remembered how Willard had wanted him to get the ball because “you handle stuff better.”
Brant smiled to himself. If he did handle stuff better, it was because his folks took the time and trouble to show him and Randy the right way to do things. Thank you, Heavenly Father, he prayed silently. Thanks for giving us parents who love us enough to not let us get away with anything.

President David O. McKay used to tell a story about a railroad engineer. Let me share it with you as recorded by President Harold B. Lee:
“The engineer pulled his train into a station one dark night, and a timid passenger inquired of the engineer if he wasn’t frightened to pull his train out in the dark with 400 or 500 passengers’ lives at stake. The engineer said, pointing up to the bright headlight, ‘I want to tell you one thing: when I pull out of this station I won’t be running in darkness one foot of the way. You see that light a thousand yards ahead? I run my engine just to the edge of the light, and when I get there it will still be on a thousand yards ahead.’ Having said that, President McKay added: ‘I want to tell you something. Through all this dark night of uncertainty, I want to tell you that this Welfare Program will not be running in the dark one foot of the way. You remember it. We can only see the next October as the first circle of light. We have told you what to do six months from now. By the time we get there the light will be on ahead of us, but every step of the way that light will be there. You teach your people to follow the light and they will be safe on Zion’s hill when the destructive forces come in the world.’” (Welfare Agricultural Meeting, 5 Apr. 1969.)

I had been taught by my parents and Church leaders to believe in the truthfulness of the gospel. I had been active in Church and seminary. But the real hour of my conversion didn’t come until I was a young man traveling to serve in the West German Mission. In those days, we traveled by train and by boat. After four days on the train, we arrived in New York City and got on a large steamship called the America.
It was very stormy on the North Atlantic Ocean that November, and my traveling companions and I were seasick. We sang hymns, studied the scriptures, and tried to stay cheerful.
As I was out on that ocean where I could see nothing but water in all directions, it dawned on me, “I have always felt the Church is true.” But suddenly the question came into my mind, “Can I look into the eyes of strangers and say without any question that I know?”
Alone in our little room aboard that ship, I got down on my knees. The ship trembled because of the big propeller driving it forward through the storms, but in that moment I couldn’t tell if it was me or the ship trembling! I poured out my heart to the Lord and said, “I have to know, because if I don’t know I can’t testify.”
Over the remaining two or three days on the ship, my prayer was answered. Peace came over me and I knew. Not only did I know that the Church was true, but I also knew that I could stand up to anyone who might challenge the doctrine. I knew that I wouldn’t buckle or weaken or be frightened, and I never was. From that moment on, I never felt any hesitation to share my testimony.

After I was baptized and confirmed, my grandmother said, “You have the Holy Ghost now, and it’s important that you have a testimony of the prophet.” Soon I went to general conference for the first time—the October conference of 1949.
It was quite an adventure. I slept over at my grandparents’ house. I remember getting up very early on Saturday morning and riding the bus to downtown Salt Lake City with my grandmother. We walked over to Temple Square and stood in a line for a long, long time. When we got to the Tabernacle, we sat in the back corner.
Just before the meeting started, there was a hush and everybody stood up. Then President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) walked in. I could see President Smith and his counselors. I’ve never forgotten how I felt when I first saw the prophet. I felt something very, very special. I knew he was the Lord’s prophet.
That was a very important event. I feel the same way when I see the President of the Church now. I have served as a General Authority now with three Presidents of the Church. And when the President walks in, I still have that testimony: “He’s the prophet.”

Since joining the Church, Liriel, now 22, has learned a lot about the Young Women values—especially faith.
“Even when I was very small, I always read the scriptures,” she says. “I always wanted to know about God. I wanted to feel close to Him.”
As Liriel grew, her dream of becoming a singer took shape—but not as quickly as she would have liked, partly because of her family’s financial struggles. “I cried and I cried and I cried about this,” she says. “I was impatient. But a voice would come to my mind saying, ‘Be calm. It isn’t your time yet.’”
She continued to work toward her dream while working to help her family financially. It was a hard time. “God will try us, but all these things are for our growth,” she explains.
Through it all, Liriel has learned a lot—about herself and about her Heavenly Father. “I know Heavenly Father loves me,” she says. “As long as I am humble He will hear my prayers and will help me overcome my problems. I know that He hears our prayers, listens, and answers—not always as we would like, but I don’t have the least doubt that He does answer.”

Let me share another story of a Church member who tried hard to magnify his calling and was blessed with an amazing spiritual gift. Brother John Macfarlane was called to be a choir director in St. George, Utah, in the 1860s. One year, he decided the choir needed a new carol for their Christmas program. He had little experience at writing hymns, but he was not afraid to pray for help, for the gift to compose.

"One night it came, suddenly, in a dream. John was awake instantly. He shook his wife, Ann, into wakefulness, crying out: 'Ann, Ann, I have the words for a song, and I think I have the music too!'" (Lloyd Wayland Macfarlane, Yours Sincerely, John M. Macfarlane).

The song that John was given in his dream has become a beloved Christmas hymn played and sung all over the world. We know it as "Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains." The music and the lyrics were inspired of God, given in the form of a spiritual gift to a dedicated choir director.

Cheng Han-sin awakened with a feeling of great happiness, but it took him a few seconds to remember why he felt the way he did.
Stretching out on the mat helped him to recollect. He had given his bed to his aged grandparents who had come to Hsinchu to join in the New Year’s Eve celebration.
This was the very day! There would be fun and feasting all over Taiwan, with fireworks and a parade in the evening. Best of all, he was to march in the head of a dragon. He had been chosen because of his good grades at school and because he happened to be just the right size.
Oh, it was good to be alive this day in Hsinchu, to have grandparents, and to be just the right size to stand inside the head of a dragon and guide it in the parade! He jumped up from the mat, slipped on his clothes, and went out to the kitchen where his mother was preparing a breakfast of rice and fried vegetables. The feasting would come later.
After breakfast his father said, "Now all of you scatter and do your chores. Then I have a surprise for you." From the smile on his father’s face Han-sin knew that it was a good surprise.
He hurried out to weed the small garden. When he came back into the house his sister Mei-ling had just finished wiping off the floor mats. His brother Shih-kai was watering the house plants. The two younger children were listening to their grandfather tell how he and their grandmother had come all the way from the farm on the train.
Waiting impatiently for his father to come in from his work in the garden, Han-sin asked, "Is it time now for the surprise?"
"Now is the time, my son," said his father. "Come. We will all go down to the park."
Han-sin asked, "Grandfather, will you not come with us to the park?"
"No, my son. I cannot walk so far. My old knees do not hold up for more than a few steps."
It was the first cloud on Han-sin’s happy day.
The children followed their father from the house. He was carrying a large package. When they reached the park he brought out a large kite. "This is for you, Han-sin," he said, "because you have brought honor to the house of Cheng."
Han-sin unwound the string and ran along the grass. The kite was lifted upward. It was in the shape of a carp, and as it filled with the wind, the mouth of the fish kite opened as though it were searching for food.
The children all laughed and cheered. "It is the finest kite in all the world," said Mei-ling.
After many flights Father said, "Come, it is time to go home. We will have our dinner, and then it will be the hour to go to the parade."
As they reached the house they took off their shoes and put on the clean slippers that were lined up outside the door. The house was filled with delicious odors of food. Mother said, "Come. The New Year’s feast is ready."
There was fish, steamed rice and vegetables, bits of pork in sweet and sour sauce, bananas and melons, and a sweetmeat for an extra treat.
Before long it was time for Han-sin to leave to take his place in the parade.
"We will all be there to watch you," said his father. "Will you be able to see us?"
"Oh, yes, indeed! I can look out through the huge mouth as long as I am careful not to stick my head out too far. Behind me is Lin Ting-fang. It is he who blows the smoke through the dragon’s nostrils."
Han-sin turned to his grandfather. "I hope that you will like the parade."
"I’m sorry, son, but I cannot walk even that far or stand that long. Your grandmother and I will sit outdoors here and imagine the dragon writhing down the street."
"And I shall stay here with them," his mother added. "I will have many more chances to see parades."
"There will be music that you could hear," said Han-sin. "There will be flutes and banjos and oboes. And there will be fireworks along the way that may be high enough for you to see."
"That will be fine, my son. We will watch and listen."
Han-sin left. He was troubled that his grandparents would not be able to see the parade.
Chang Tso-lin, the parade director, explained, "The big dragon is in the lead. Next come the musicians and the acrobats. And you, Han-sin, will be the last in the little dragon. All you have to do is follow and weave from side to side as you march along. At the third fountain the parade will turn right and return on the other street."
The boys took their places inside the dragon. The sides came down and hid all but their feet. It was a gorgeous green, trimmed with tinsel and make-believe jewels.
As they started to weave down the street, Han-sin thought again of his grandparents. If only they could see the parade! They have had little in life but hard work on the farm.
The boys fell in line behind the acrobats, who were tumbling and performing other stunts along the way. Just behind Han-sin was Lin Ting-fang, blowing smoke through the dragon’s nostrils. He blew some in Han-sin’s face. The boy almost stumbled as he began to choke.
"Please don’t do that again," said Han-sin. "I might fall."
"A fine dragon you’d make if you can’t stand a little smoke," responded Ting-fang, blowing more smoke around Han-sin’s head.
Han-sin started to cough and his eyes were blinded for a moment. "If I fall, it will ruin the parade," he warned.
"So it would," agreed Ting-fang, almost with glee.
Han-sin remembered now. Ting-fang had wanted to be the leader. He was a year older and thought that he should have been chosen.
Han-sin said no more. He thought that if he paid no attention, Ting-fang might stop bothering him. But it was not so. Almost every time the dragon came to an extra large crowd or was making a wide curve, Ting-fang blew more smoke around Han-sin’s head.
At times he could hardly see where they were going because of the smoke. But still he counted the fountains as they passed. Ahead was the third one, Yu Shann, named in honor of the high mountain.
The big dragon in the lead had already turned, followed by the musicians. Now the acrobats were turning. If I turn left instead of right, Han-sin suddenly had a thought, I can go down our street. Then my grandparents can see the dragon.
Disregarding the consequences, Han-sin left the main body of the parade and turned to the left. Behind him Ting-fang hissed, "You numbskull! You have made the wrong turn. Go back before it is too late!"
"It is too late now," said Han-sin. "We will go down this street."
People came running out of their houses to see the dragon. Han-sin’s grandparents and his mother were already seated before the house. Their faces lighted up with surprise and joy as the dragon swerved in their direction and bowed its head.
When they returned to the starting place Chang Tso-lin was waiting. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked.
"I told him!" shouted Ting-fang. "I told him to turn back."
"Anyone can make a mistake," said Tso-lin. "It is not too serious."
Han-sin swallowed hard. He could have let it go at that. But instead he softly said, "It was not a mistake, sir. I went the wrong way because I wanted my grandparents to see the dragon."
"Then you disobeyed. You must tell your father. He will give the proper punishment."
Han-sin bowed and started to walk home. He arrived soon after his father and the younger children.
"It was such a beautiful parade!" Mei-ling was saying. "We wish that you could have seen it."
"But we did," said Grandfather. "At least we saw the best part—Han-sin’s dragon."
"How was that possible?" asked Father. "The parade turned to the right."
"All but the last dragon," explained Han-sin. "I turned it down this street. But it was the wrong thing to do. Chang Tso-lin says I must be punished."
"He is right," agreed Father. "You will bring me the new kite."
"Yes, Father," said Han-sin. He went inside and brought out the beautiful new kite that swam in the sky like a fish.
His father took the kite and handed it to Shih-kai. "It is now yours," he said.
Shih-kai turned to his older brother. "Will you help me fly the kite?" he asked.
Han-sin nodded with a smile.

On October 17, 1989, while driving home after work, I was approaching a stoplight at the intersection of Market and Beale Streets in San Francisco, California. At that moment I felt the car shake and thought, “I must have a flat tire.” As the car continued to shake, I noticed a bus quite close to me and thought, “That bus just hit me!” Then the car shook more and more, and I thought, “I must have four flat tires!” But it wasn’t flat tires or the bus—it was a powerful earthquake! As I stopped at the red light, there were ripples in the pavement like waves of the sea rolling down Market Street. In front of me a tall office building was swaying from side to side, and bricks began falling from an older building to my left as the earth continued to shake.
The Loma Prieta earthquake impacted many lives, including my own. Pondering the events of that day reaffirms in my mind and heart that in order to successfully withstand the tempests, earthquakes, and calamities of life, we must build upon a sure foundation.

Faith to overcome is what we need to help us in our trials. A number of years ago, a man in our community impressed me with his testimony. He was a convert from Ireland, joining the Church against the wishes of his family. They disowned him and never spoke to him again. Tragedy seemed to follow him. His first child developed a serious illness that left him $5,000 in debt (a huge sum at that time). Not long after this, his bishop called in sixty faithful members of his ward, telling them they needed to raise $30,000 immediately. When the bishop called for a show of hands of those who would contribute substantially, his faith wavered momentarily, but his wife quickly held up his hand. He did make his contribution, and the windows of heaven opened. Somehow he was able to pay his debts as well. He recounted what great blessings had come to him because he was faithful.

It did not take long for me to realize that my mission was going to be very different than I had expected. I was faced with some unexpected challenges. I tried to stay positive, but my attempts often failed, leaving me feeling discouraged. Thankfully, I received encouragement at zone conferences, which always concluded with a testimony meeting.
I remember one particular zone conference when each missionary took the stand, expressing the joy of serving a mission. As the meeting progressed, I began to feel uncomfortable. I had been a missionary for a full year but had never felt the joy others were describing. I left that conference heavyhearted and confused, questioning why I was even serving a mission. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I feel that same joy? Later that night I expressed my concerns to Heavenly Father and asked Him how I could feel such joy.
Several weeks later, while attending stake conference, I received my answer during a talk by my mission president. Although he spoke to the hundreds in the audience, I felt that he spoke directly to me. He talked about the joy of Christ’s Redemption that each of us can feel every day. He testified that even during difficult and uncertain times, we can feel joy from understanding the significance of the Savior’s Atonement.
I knew those words were for me. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. Perhaps my mission was not going as I had thought it would, but the Savior loved me and had atoned for my sins. The joy I thought I had never experienced was all around me. I just hadn’t opened my heart to feel it.
My challenges continued, but this experience taught me that I could feel joy by choosing to open my heart to the Savior’s redeeming power and by sharing my testimony of that power with others.
Since my mission I have come to understand that situations and surroundings have no lasting impact on our ability to feel joy. Instead, true joy comes from obeying and believing in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, who made life here—and hereafter—“that [we] might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25).

Today is starting like any other day, eight-year-old Gage thought as he slipped into his cotton shirt and pulled his suspenders into place. Why does it feel different? Gabriel, the rooster, crowed like always to wake up the sun. The sun peeked through the curtains and lit up the face of Roosevelt, Gage’s old, worn panda that sat on a chair by his bed, as it always did.
Yet things seemed different. Gabriel’s crowing was easier to tolerate, somehow. The light seeping through his worn curtains looked … brighter. And this morning Roosevelt’s stitched-on smile appeared happier than ever. He looked the stuffed bear straight in his black button eyes. “What’s going on, Roosevelt?”
Gage pulled on his boots. Papa would be out in the barn by now, hitching the field horse to the plow. It was Gage’s job to walk behind him and plant the seeds, a chore that somehow never ranked as high on his list of things to do as fishing or playing marbles with Ansel Clanton. But now the thought of spending the whole day in the field, seeding the dry earth, didn’t rouse even one sigh. In fact, he discovered himself looking forward to it!
“What is going on, Roosevelt?” he asked again as he started for the door, stuffing his shirt into his trousers. He paused in the sunlight that inched its way through the shadows of his room. “At least the morning is cold, like it’s supposed to be,” he told the old bear. “Except,” he added, his face puzzling up again, “today it doesn’t make me wish I was still in bed under Mama’s comforter, like it usually does.” He faced himself in the little dresser mirror. “Yep, it’s me all right. It’s just everything else that’s changed.” He scratched his head. “Maybe I’m dreaming or something, Roosevelt.” He pinched himself. “No, it’s real enough all right.”
Gage quickly ate the two eggs, biscuit, and glass of goat’s milk that Mama had waiting for him. He hated goat’s milk, but today it seemed easier to swallow.
Mama turned from her work at the butter churn and looked at her son. “Is anything the matter, Gage?”
“Mama, do you feel any different this morning than you did yesterday?”
“Feel any different about what?”
“About … everything?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. Why?”
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself.” He set his empty glass on the table and ran out the door.
Mama watched him as he crossed the yard toward the big field. Then she smiled, shrugged, and turned her attention back to the churn.
As Gage walked behind his father, depositing seeds into the newly plowed furrows, he glanced at the old scarecrow that stood a short way off. He had seen it a thousand times before. It looked just like it always had—a straw man dressed in ragged clothes. So why did it seem that Gage was looking at it for the first time? “Do you notice anything different about the straw man, Papa?”
Papa glanced at the ragged figure with the lifeless stare. “Yes,” he responded lightly, squinting from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, “now that you mention it, Son.”
“Really, Papa?” Gage exclaimed. “I was starting to think that I was the only one who—
“No, no,” the tall farmer with the dark, laughing eyes interrupted teasingly “I’d say that scarecrow looks at least a day older!” he chuckled.
Gage sighed. “That isn’t it, Papa. Can we talk a minute?”
Papa looked over his shoulder at the boy and stopped plowing at the end of the row. “I suppose I could give Thaddeus here a little rest.” He patted the big field horse on the rump and sat down. “What is it, Son?”
“I wish I knew what words to use to explain it, Papa.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, Papa—I just don’t understand it.”
Papa looked relieved. He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “You asked me a moment ago if I noticed anything different about that scarecrow over there—”
“It isn’t just the straw man, Papa,” Gage interrupted. “It’s everything.”
“What about everything, Gage?”
“It’s like I’m feeling and seeing and tasting and smelling and hearing everything for the very first time. It’s like I was a different person or something. The sky looks bluer. The scarecrow looks more … interesting.” He lifted a handful of dirt and let it sift between his fingers. “The dirt even feels good. What’s the matter with me?”
Papa’s eyes misted over. “I remember when I first felt the same way.”
“You did? When, Papa?”
Papa gazed off across the field into the morning light that covered the hills. “The same day I was baptized.” His eyes returned to his son’s. “I felt alive all over, just like you.”
“I was baptized last night,” Gage uttered softly, his eyes rounding even more, like the sun above the hills.
“Yes,” his father said softly, “and you said you woke up this morning feeling different—about everything.”
“Will it be like this every morning, now that I’ve been baptized?”
“No,” Papa answered. “Not every morning.”
A tear slid down the boy’s dusty cheek. “I don’t ever want to stop feeling like I do. Never.”
“You made some very important promises to Heavenly Father at your baptism, and he made some to you. Be true to those commitments, Son, and your life will stay full, bright, and alive. It’s like this field—the harder we work to do everything right, the bigger and better and more beautiful the harvest. We can’t just sit here with our hands in our pockets and expect the corn to reach the clouds, now can we?”
“Nope—we can’t!”
The two continued their slow journey down the lengths of the field, the tall man guiding the plow, the small boy seeding the furrows.
At the end of the day, Papa and Gage made their way back to the farmhouse. Even though Gage was tired, he wore a dusty smile. He had worked hard, and it had been a good day. Tomorrow would bring another beautiful morning.

I was touched by the heartbreaking statement of a young missionary in Japan. He said, “I have been here for months. I can’t learn the language. I dislike the people. I am depressed by day and weep at night. I wanted to die. I wrote my mother and pleaded for an excuse to return home. I have her reply. She says: ‘We’re praying for you. There is not a day passes that all of us do not kneel together in the morning before we eat and in the evening before we retire and plead with the Lord for his blessing upon you. We have added fasting to our prayer, and when your younger brothers and sisters pray they say, “Heavenly Father, bless Johnny in Japan and help him to learn the language and do the work he was called to do.”’”
This young man then went on to say through his tears, “I will try again. I will add my prayers to theirs and my fasting to their fasting.”
Four months after hearing that he would try again, I received a letter from him in which he said, “a miracle has happened. The language has come to me as a gift from the Lord. I have learned to love the people in this beautiful land. God be thanked for the prayers of my family.”

Some time ago I was invited to speak at a youth conference, which is the kind of invitation that I have had to decline routinely for years. But something about this one kept gnawing at me, and I answered that I would come. It seemed a foolish thing to do. It meant a morning drive of about four hours into a neighboring state and then the same drive back that night. But I felt I should go, and I did. I put my wife and children in the car with sandwiches and a Scrabble board, and off we went.

After I dropped them off at the local city park and swimming pool, I went over to the youth conference held at a local stake center. The trip was worth it all to me for one brief testimony that I heard there. At this very moment I honestly cannot tell you what I said to that group as their invited speaker. It’s gone from my memory and undoubtedly gone from all of theirs. But this young convert’s testimony is still with me, and I leave it with you today.

She described her conversion to the Church and what the gospel of Jesus Christ had come to mean in her life. Her home life was something out of a horror story—broken marriage, mother living with a man not her husband, brother on drugs, sister expecting a baby. It was as bizarre as any social worker would ever need to see. But into her life had come the Church, and for this young fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girl it was everything, and she was hanging on. She described opening her school locker one day, only to have her paperback edition of the Book of Mormon fall to the floor. She used it in seminary, and to her it was a prized possession. She was still a little insecure about all of this, however, for the world around her had made her pretty insecure. And she was not yet certain what her new faith and friends held in store for her. She was happy but still tentative and very anxious to be stronger in the faith. She was embarrassed. She had not wanted anyone to see the book.

She hastily stooped down to pick it up before someone noticed. But someone had noticed, and they were standing right next to her. Three girls looked first at the book and then at her. Her heart sank, and she clutched at the little blue paperback cover. She said nothing, and neither did they for a moment. But then one of them asked, “Is that a church book?”

She said “Yes.”

The other girl said “What church is it?”

And my young friend stuttered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“Is that the Mormons?” shot back the inquirer.

“Yes,” whispered the frightened little Latter-day Saint, “that’s the Mormons.”

There was a long pause, and then her interrogator said, “Are you true?”

After a pause that was both instantaneous and eternal, my little friend said, with her head slightly more erect and her back slightly straighter and her hands trembling a little less, “Yes, I’m true.”

I must confess that when I first heard that young girl’s testimony, I did not quite understand all that I was hearing. I’ve thought about it since, and obviously what the one girl, in her own way, was asking was, “Are you active?” That’s the way we would have phrased it. But what a tragic loss to so phrase it. How much more meaning there is in the straightforward inquiry, “Are you true?”

There was no reprisal. The heretofore undisclosed copy of the Book of Mormon in a school locker had not brought on physical torture or social ostracism. A little confidence came, and a little conviction increased. There was just one young soul saying to another, “Are you true?” “If you are a Latter-day Saint, are you a good one?”

Sasha twirled in her bright pink skirt. It was her favorite outfit to wear to church. And now it was time for her favorite part of church. Primary!
Sasha’s teacher was helping them learn the Articles of Faith. Today they were learning number 13. It was long! But Sister Banda said, “I know you can learn the first part. ‘We believe in being honest.’ Say it with me!”
“We believe in being honest,” said Sasha and the other kids.
Later that week, Sasha and her little brother, Alfred, were playing in the kitchen. “I’m bored,” Alfred said.
“Me too.” Then Sasha saw some eggs on the table. They looked fun to play with. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s play a game!”
Sasha picked up an egg. “You stand on the other side of the table,” she said to Alfred. Then she rolled the egg across to him. Sasha and Alfred laughed. The egg was so wobbly!
“Your turn!” Sasha said.
Alfred rolled the egg back to her. But this time the egg didn’t roll straight. Instead, it curved and rolled right off the table. Splat! The egg crashed to the floor, making a goopy mess.
Alfred looked at Sasha with wide eyes. Then they both burst out laughing. “Let’s do it again!” he said.
Sasha grabbed another egg. “Catch it before it rolls off!” she said. She rolled the egg harder than she had before. Alfred missed it. Splat!
Alfred grabbed two more eggs. He rolled them faster. Sasha couldn’t stop them soon enough. Splat! Splat! Sasha and Alfred giggled some more.
Then Sasha heard Mum coming. Oh no! They were going to be in big trouble!
Sasha didn’t want Mum to be mad at them. Maybe they could make up a story. She could tell Mum they didn’t do it.
But then Sasha remembered the thirteenth article of faith. “We believe in being honest.”
“What happened?” Mum asked. She stared at the messy floor. “Who broke the eggs?”
Sasha took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mum. It was me and Alfred. We thought the eggs looked fun to play with. But it wasn’t a good idea. I’ll help clean up.”
“Me too,” Alfred said.
Mum gave Sasha and Alfred a hug. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”
Sasha smiled. Then she turned to Alfred. “Maybe we can make up a new game—about cleaning up!”
This story took place in Zambia.
What did Sasha do when Mum asked about the eggs?

The importance of this step is illustrated by a family of five who became converts to the Church. They had lived in a neighborhood where there were many Latter-day Saints, and they had learned much about the gospel. Then they had moved to a mission area, and a Mormon missionary invited them to church. In a short time they were baptized. Someone asked, “Why didn’t you join sooner?” The father answered, “No one ever before invited us to join or even to go to church.”

That journey began when the Book of Mormon became the instrument that led to my parents’ conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Pagadian City, Mindanao, on June 7, 1970. I was just four years old. When I turned eight, my father baptized me, marking the beginning of my own covenant path. Throughout my childhood, my journey was intertwined with my parents’ as they raised us in the gospel. They taught us—by word and example—the importance of the Sabbath, the sacrament, tithing, priesthood blessings, and regular scripture study.
As a young seminary student, I learned a valuable lesson: just as one cannot fully understand the taste of salt without tasting it, one cannot fully grasp the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon without reading, pondering, and praying about it. When I completed the Book of Mormon for the first time, I was struck by the cycle of righteousness and wickedness among the people and the eventual destruction of the Nephites. I resolved then to strive for righteousness and to practice repentance in my youth.
My testimony of God and love for the Book of Mormon deepened when I received my patriarchal blessing at age 15. Although I had only met the patriarch that day, I felt as if he knew me intimately. His inspired counsel gave me a clear path to follow and confirmed that God knew me personally. That path included letting the word of God dwell in me richly by loving the scriptures.
This counsel became a spiritual anchor when, at 16, I left home to attend college in Los Baños, Laguna. Living far from family and surrounded by few Church members, I found strength in my daily habit of reading the Book of Mormon. It fortified my testimony, helped me excel in my studies, and strengthened my desire to serve a full-time mission after graduation.
Early in my mission, I realized that everything we teach and believe as Latter-day Saints is rooted in the Book of Mormon. From that moment, I resolved to champion it at every opportunity.
One such opportunity came unexpectedly. My companion and I were once “trapped” in a room surrounded by ministers from another church who were trying to discredit our teachings. We refused to contend with them and silently prayed for a way to escape. Then, a seminary lesson came to mind. I asked them, “How would you describe the taste of salt to someone who has never tasted it?” Some tried but could not do so, until one finally said, “It’s simple—just taste it!” I then held up my copy of the Book of Mormon and asked, “Has any of you read this book?” No one raised their hand or responded in the affirmative. Only silence ensued. That gave us the opportunity to bear our testimonies and invite them to read it for themselves. The encounter ended peacefully, and word of it spread in the community, opening doors that had previously been closed to us.
I love the Book of Mormon. It is the foundation and keystone of my testimony of Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the truthfulness of His gospel. It is my personal witness that the Prophet Joseph Smith was truly called of God and that the Church of Jesus Christ has been restored in these latter days. For over 40 years now, I have strived and continue to strive to read the Book of Mormon daily. Living its teachings has drawn me closer to God and strengthened me in my roles as a husband, father, Church leader, and disciple of Christ.
I invite everyone to draw on the power of the Book of Mormon to make the greatest difference in our daily lives. Let us love reading and studying it each day. I echo President Russell M. Nelson’s promise:
“As [we] prayerfully study the Book of Mormon every day, [we] will make better decisions—every day. ... As [we] ponder what [we] study, the windows of heaven will open, and [we] will receive answers to [our] own questions and direction for [our] own life.”
Let us, through the Book of Mormon, “feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell [us] all things what [we] should do” (2 Nephi 32:3). And “if [we] shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, saith the Father: [We] shall have eternal life” (2 Nephi 31:20).